This week, I’m doing a series on Mark Helprin’s latest novel, In Sunlight and in Shadow. I have occasion to say something about New York audiences in today’s installment. What I have to say is not very flattering.

But later I remembered something, and I thought I would share it here. Years ago, in 2001 — before 9/11 — I did a piece on Rodney Dangerfield. He had performed at Avery Fisher Hall, in a tour leading up to his 80th birthday. (At least I think he was on tour; I know he was a few months away from 80.)

Let me quote from the final paragraph of the piece:

When the evening wound down, Dangerfield seemed not to know how to end it. He left the stage a few times, then came back for what seemed like encores. But it was hard to tell. Finally, he held out his hand and said something that sounded heartfelt: “My old man was in vaudeville, and he said, ‘You can always count on a New York audience.’” With that, he waved and tottered off, leaving in his wake only happiness, and a disturbing sense that: This was it.

I.e., that we would never see him again, or his like. I thought he was wonderful.